Jailbirds Meet the red bird
Who: Cherry, Cordy, Hood, Bret, and NPCs who might be traumatized
What: Dancing to the jailhouse rock
When: Sunday afternoon
Where: The jail
The kitten wouldn't stop squirming. Cats never really liked Cherry. It was some kind of cat-bird thing, she supposed. Animals always knew. Fortunately, Cherry had had just enough foresight to wrap the kitten in a blanket, its little head popping out like a baby's. Although it hissed and squirmed, the blanket was thick enough to protect her arms from the tiny claws. "Hush up," she murmured, holding the bundle against her chest.
She quickly made her way along the underground corridor, her brown eyes sweeping from side to side as she walked. Somewhere, in the distance, she thought she heard the sound of water dripping. The ground felt humid and moist. Perhaps she should have worn shoes, but she was in such a hurry she had completely forgotten. What a dank place this was. It reminded her of the catacombs under the theatre, only without the haunting melodies echoing off of the walls. Or the mass murders. She shivered and the cat squawked in protest. "Keep your shirt on," she told it.
What: Dancing to the jailhouse rock
When: Sunday afternoon
Where: The jail
The kitten wouldn't stop squirming. Cats never really liked Cherry. It was some kind of cat-bird thing, she supposed. Animals always knew. Fortunately, Cherry had had just enough foresight to wrap the kitten in a blanket, its little head popping out like a baby's. Although it hissed and squirmed, the blanket was thick enough to protect her arms from the tiny claws. "Hush up," she murmured, holding the bundle against her chest.
She quickly made her way along the underground corridor, her brown eyes sweeping from side to side as she walked. Somewhere, in the distance, she thought she heard the sound of water dripping. The ground felt humid and moist. Perhaps she should have worn shoes, but she was in such a hurry she had completely forgotten. What a dank place this was. It reminded her of the catacombs under the theatre, only without the haunting melodies echoing off of the walls. Or the mass murders. She shivered and the cat squawked in protest. "Keep your shirt on," she told it.